Days Gone By
by Preminiscence
Summary: Crossover fic. After the events of the series finale -spoilers- modern-day Sherlock meets his alternate from another past... Sherlock x John eventually, modern-day; and Sherlock x Irene, movie-version :P Rating may change from T to M in time.
1. What The Doctor Ordered

A/N: This is a crossover fic co-authored by me and Queen Irene Holmes, between the BBC series Sherlock and the 2009 film Sherlock Holmes :D I write the Sherlock series scenes, and Irene the 2009 film scenes. This is set (for me) after the series' finale, and for Irene, after the completion of the film :)

The pairings in this are as follows:

Sherlock x John (written by me - Sherlock series)

Sherlock x Irene (written by Irene - the 2009 film)

Yes, this means both het and slash. If you don't like either of these pairings, you could still read it if you like the plot/the other pairing, etc.

We don't own anything related to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle :( Except perhaps the books, some DVDs of the various films/series', and a lot of Sherlock-y love ^_^

The following is written by me, based on the Sherlock series, and is not beta'd by anyone, so any mistakes are my own :)

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**Chapter One: What the doctor ordered**

Sometimes there was a thing as 'too much' Sherlock.

Sometimes, the way he kept festering appendages of various deceased human - or otherwise - beings in several inopportune places in the fridge or freezer (whatever was required) was more than slightly disturbing; especially when said bodily parts found their way into the meat section or the salad drawer - even when sealed in individual bags it wasn't very hygienic and at one point succeeded in driving John to takeaways for a week in protest.

Sometimes, the way he deliberately committed murder on his violin to 'improve' his rate of deductive thinking, thus keeping John up for long, indefinite hours - usually so early in the morning the birds weren't even awake - made John want to show Sherlock where he should stick that bow.

But there were other times, such as the one he was experiencing now; where John would very happily deal with everything ever possibly Sherlock, and do so gladly, because despite his 'getting off' on cases (particularly those dealing with impossible means, and a formidable 'foe') he was a good man, at heart - and though John had doubted this at times, he never felt so certain of it then now, sitting beside Sherlock on the sofa, feeling very much alive and needing to know Sherlock was too.

"John."

John turned his head slightly to his friend - yes, definitely _friend,_ not _colleague _- and gave a small, welcoming smile; "yes?"

"We need groceries."

John hesitated, blinked, and then frowned at him. "Excuse me?"

"We're out - the fridge only contains my experiments-" by which he means human remains, John summarized; "-and I don't want you eating that. You might get sick, and then we'd have to go _back_ to the hospital-"

"You couldn't have just let the moment last, could you?"

Sherlock frowned, quizzically. "Moment?"

"Yes," John nodded; "that moment, just then, when we were just sitting, and I was thinking of being alive and you were thinking of groceries. It was profound. Until you spoke."

Sherlock paused. "Right," he said at last, apparently not getting it, or else not _bothered _about getting it. "Should I just...?" He trailed off, and looked at John expectantly. At his lack of response, Sherlock continued; "let you be?"

"No, no. It's gone now. Won't come back. Wait until we have another near-death experience." John paused; "in a swimming pool. With Moriarty."

Sherlock sighed, "it could still happen." He looked forlorn. Forlorn wasn't good when it came to Sherlock. It was never good.

"No, no it couldn't," John protested; "it will never ever ha-oh what am I saying? It could happen. They didn't find a body and to you that means no evidence of his death, which means leaping into the pool might not have been the only way to escape the blast." He crossed his arms and blew out a long, drawn-out stretch of air through his teeth.

After a tense moment, Sherlock prompted, "something's bothering you."

"Oh really?" John asked sarcastically; "I hadn't noticed."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "What's wrong? You were fine a moment ago."

"Can't you deduce it?" John quipped sharply.

"I thought it would be better to ask," he shifted awkwardly - well, as awkward as Sherlock ever got, and only in moments when he was riling John up or vice versa. "But if you didn't want to discuss it, why didn't you just say?"

"Because you would've read it in my blog anyway," John pointed out, irritation ebbing. "It was bad enough trying to convince everyone that I was okay, that I wasn't lying dead or dying anywhere, and that nearly being blown up _wasn't _as deadly as it sounds."

There was another pause. "I'm... sorry that you were dragged into it like that."

John glanced up, surprise flittering across his features at the sincerity of his tone. "You don't need to be. It's bloody terrifying but I wouldn't give it up." Searching Sherlock's pale eyes, he added softly; "but thank you. For the thought."

Sherlock stared back, seemingly fixated with John's own darker eyes, or else deducing something from them that John himself hadn't comprehended. Yet.

Blinking himself back into reality, John cleared his throat, suddenly more than comfortably aware of his proximity to Sherlock, of which there was little to divide them. He shifted slightly, aware that Sherlock was studying his movements, and pushed himself up from his seat, stretching. "I could get our groceries now, actually," he said, avoiding eye contact with Sherlock. This plan was swiftly uprooted, however, when the sound of the front door shutting announced Mrs. Hudson's arrival; she soon ascended the stairs, several bags of bulging shopping gripped in her hands.

"Only this once, Sherlock," she called as she deposited them in the kitchen. "I'm your landlady not your housekeeper!" She started to unpack them, before John intervened.

"I can do that, Mrs. Hudson, thank you." He smiled at her, noting that Sherlock had leapt up and was rifling through the bags with a mild disinterest.

"I'm only doing this because of that nasty business with the hospital," she continued to Sherlock, waving a finger at him good-humouredly; "don't start to rely on it." Sherlock smiled broadly in response, and waited until she was gone before returning to the living room and flopping down in an armchair.

"You could help, you know," John called, watching him. "Instead of just sitting there, looking bored."

"That's because I _am_ bored!" Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms and slumping.

John sighed, abandoning the shopping for a minute to stare at Sherlock. "Can't you get a hobby?"

"Hobby? Hah!" He laughed, once, and then leapt to his feet again. "I don't _need_ a hobby, I need-"

"Murder? Death? Danger?" John supplied, now rearranging the fridge.

Sherlock paused, smiled, and made his way into the kitchen again. "Exactly what the doctor ordered," he grinned.

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A/N: Oooh, cliché saying! Can't live without that. I apologize if any of the above was ooc, I'm trying :)


	2. Chapter 2

This is written by Queen Irene Holmes, and is as she sent it to me :D Set during the 2009 film.

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Chapter 2

Gladstone POV

A loud growl erupting from my stomach awoke me from my deep slumber. I lifted my head ever so slightly and noticed that the lower half of my body was covered in used pieces of paper that my master has carelessly thrown to the floor.

My master was in his usual chair, his eyes unfocused, pipe in mouth which was giving out the majority of the smoke that clouded the rooms. In one hand held a needle which had been forced into his wrist. The other, moderately limper than the opposite held his violin which I remember he had been plucking before I fell asleep.

The door, I noticed was slightly ajar so I moved myself up, opened the door with my nose, and made my way out in search of food.

I was now on the landing and I could here two females conversing below me.

I peered between the bars of the banister and saw Mrs Hudson and another woman in a dark blue dress.

"He's bored, I think Miss Adler, Doctor Watson popped his head in yesterday, for I wouldn't dare go in on my own when he's in that state! He said the room was getting like an opium den. Also I think he's injecting drugs again. Oh Miss Adler I am so glad that you were in London! What is he does more damage to my walls! "The old lady seemed quite distressed but the other woman simply put her hand on the landladies arm and said "don't worry Mrs Hudson, I'll talk to him.

The younger female made her way up the stairs, passed me and for some reason gave me a reproachful look and let herself into my master's rooms.

How I miss Master Watson!


	3. It's a Six Patch Boredom

This is written by me, and not beta'd by anyone. Any and all mistakes in this chapter are my own (or missed by spell-check) :D

(Present day)

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**Chapter Three: It's a Six Patch Boredom**

"What are you doing?" John hesitated in the entrance of the living room and gazed down on the limp form of his friend, sprawled on his back across the sofa.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Sherlock responded in kind, barely bothering to lift his head to answer.

"Over-dosing on Nicotine Patches because you're bored." John supplied, crossing the threshold into the room and shooting him an 'I'm a doctor and I know you' look, which was correct on the occupation part but not so much on the 'I know you' front; it could hardly be said that _anyone _knew Sherlock, and John himself had barely scratched the surface.

"Your powers of deduction _astound _me, John; you really are improving." Sherlock drawled, stretching so that his feet dug into the far arm of the sofa. John ignored him and sat opposite in an armchair.

"You never get like this unless you're bored - - what is that? Six patches? God, Sherlock, if you don't treat your body right soon you won't have one at all. You're just supplementing smoking with those patches - they're supposed to wean you _out _of an addiction, not start a new one!" He chastised, not that Sherlock seemed to be listening much anyway.

"If I want your medical opinion, John, I'll ask." He responded lazily from the couch, burying his face into a nearby cushion. "Anyway," he continued, voice slightly muffled; "it's a six patch boredom."

John scoffed. "You may not want it, but you definitely need it." He rose and swiped his laptop from the desk (where Sherlock, unsurprisingly enough, had been hacking into it, _again), _and settled back into the armchair, switching it on and accessing the internet.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock's mildly-curious tone swept across the distance between them, but before John could gather up a reply he'd leapt restlessly from his lounging and was peering over John's shoulder inquisitively. Due to the armchair having a reasonably high back and the position John was sitting in, Sherlock's face was unusually close to John's - - so close, in fact, that he could feel a slight tingle of heat from Sherlock's cheek beside his own.

"You have no definition of personal space, do you?" John muttered under his breath.

"Mm?" Sherlock obviously hadn't been listening what he'd just said, or else he'd heard and chosen not to take much notice of it, which was probably more likely. He was seemingly intently focused on the Google homepage - - though John doubted he'd give a search engine so much attention if he had anything better to occupy his mind - - as John considered what to enter, the cursor flashing impatiently as he thought.

Science was out, he did that already. Sports was out too, it was basically mindless, and Sherlock was one for the mind as opposed to the muscle. Art? Was Sherlock artistic? He appreciated a few things, fine art and music occasionally among them - - but they were hardly great discoveries that would shape his deductive reasoning in more invigorating ways. Ah - - he had it!

**Search: Astronomy**

Sherlock frowned, but didn't speak. He seemed to be observing John out of the corner of his eye, as though trying to deduce his motives for typing that.

**Free Astronomy Classes for Beginners: Enroll Now!**

John clicked on it, smirking to himself. Sherlock was _definitely _a beginner.

**Courses are Available! Start Today, or book a course on Monday, Tues- -**

Suddenly the screen blinked, once, and died. An incriminating finger belonging to a smug-looking Sherlock Holmes removed itself from the power button. John blinked a few times at the screen, and then turned and pointedly stared at Sherlock's bemused eyes.

Nothing really needed to be said, the moment they shared between them was enough. It was a moment of good-humor, mixed with an underlay of growing friendship. They bounced off each other, Sherlock and John, and it was something unique between them, that they could respond to each other so.

It was also something to note that Sherlock had stopped complaining of boredom.

A small chime sliced through the air, vibrating from John's phone. He scooped it out his pocket and answered it. "Hello? Oh, Inspector Lestrade? Yes, he's here..." Frowning, he passed the mobile to an eager-looking Sherlock.

"Yes? What is it? Right... We'll be there. This better be worth my help, Inspector. Bye!" The whole conversation took only a few seconds, at the end of which Sherlock tossed the phone back to John and headed straight for the door.

John waited a few seconds, phone in hand, now on his feet. After a moment, Sherlock popped his head back around the door. "Let's go!"

John waited a further couple of seconds, hearing Sherlock's footsteps go down and up the stairs again, before his head was back around the door, followed swiftly by the rest of his body. He looked inquiringly at John, who felt at last he had enough of Sherlock's attention - - despite his shifting on his feet due to the promise of a mystery - - to speak.

"Since when does Lestrade contact you with my number?"

Sherlock dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Since I told him it was my new number."

John bit on his lip and chewed it for a bit, trying to understand why he would do that. After a moment he gave in and asked, "and why would you do that?"

Sherlock sucked in some air through his teeth and rolled backwards and forth impatiently on the balls of his feet. "Because you're my blogger and I was - -"

"Bored," John finished. "Yes, I know. Could you perhaps _not _do that in the future?"

Sherlock merely stared at him. John sighed. "Right, okay, not going to happen, I get it. Are we... _going, _now?" He gestured to the door. Sherlock grinned in response.

"Hurry John, there's no time to lose!"

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A/N: Wayhay! Yet another chapter! If you like it, please review to your heart's content :D Not that we can force you or anything, but still :)

EDIT EDIT: Just realised I called John 'Jack' (uhm...) lol.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews; **Macs, Shi-koi **and **Kairr**! They're lovely and inspire us to keep updating frequently :D Also, any suggestions you make we take in gladly, so thank you :)

The following is written by Queen Irene Holmes (past Sherlock), and is unedited by me, so all credit for this chapter goes to her :)

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Chapter 4- 

Adler Vs Holmes

Irene sashayed her way up the stairs and past a grumpy looking Gladstone. Her mind moved back and remembered the last time she had been in the same room as the bull pup. Disregarding him she opened the door.

Almost immediately the smoke and smell hit her in the face like a ton of bricks.

She couldn't see what was in front of her as the air was like pea soup. Quickly remembering where the windows were, she rushed towards them and slammed them open.

She relished the soft breeze that filtered through, but not for long.

"Really Sherlock, you must be more careful! One more moment and you may have suffered from asphyxiation" she started as she turned around. To her horror, Holmes did not answer, it was doubtful, in fact whether he was even alive for he was slumped in his chair with his eyes closed, needle in arm and his precious violin on the floor.

Irene ran to him and proceeded to try and shake him awake.

When that failed she ran out and shouted to Mrs Hudson "fetch a bowl, water and a sponge"

Mrs Hudson did as she was told and within a few moments Irene was furiously dabbing Sherlock's forehead and neck, whilst Mrs Hudson was waving smelling salts underneath his nose.

After what seemed to Irene, an age, Sherlock came to only to have Irene slap him lightly and then envelop him in a huge hug.

"I shall leave you two alone" said Mrs Hudson, retreating out of the room taking the smelling salts and water with her.

Once Mrs Hudson was out of the room Irene let him go and instantaneously turned on him once again.

"You absolute idiot!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, stretched and simply said "you must be in the middle of your menstrual cycle"

Irene's face flushed a bright tomato red with embarrassment "I, um, it's hardly any business of yours to know whether I am or not" she stammered for the first time in her life.

"It is my business, Miss Adler because when a woman is in the middle of her menstrual cycle she is prone to mood swings and so I have to be prepared "

Irene sighed and restored her picture to the upright position it was accustomed to which Sherlock had put down during his speech "what were you doing?" she asked indicating to the needle which Sherlock had taken out an put on the arm of his chair.

"I was broadening my horizons, exploring new territories in new worlds, I was ..."

"You were bored weren't you?"

"Yes"

Suddenly anger flared up inside of Irene "do you have no regard for your health or the feelings of those around you!"

"What, precisely do you mean?" inquired Sherlock, his voice steady whereas Irene's was slightly raised. He moved towards her picture and put it down again.

"I thought you had died! Sherlock, there was that awful moment when you weren't moving!" The picture went up.

"Why should that bother you? After all I am only a drop of water in the ocean of men for you" down went the picture and up went his voice.

"Because I...I lo... I'm you friend and Mrs Hudson asked me to come to check up on you" Up went the picture

"Well you can go now, goodbye Miss Adler!" Down

"Oh you Mr Holmes are very rude and I should have known not to come!" Up. With that she stormed out of the room leaving her hat behind.

Sherlock groaned and slammed her picture back down once more.

"That deplorable **woman**!" then he noticed the hat, dark blue in colour with a pink flower placed in the side of it, polluting his environment with **her** perfume "she's done that on purpose" he concluded out loud. He moved out to the landing, nearly tripping over Gladstone.

"Mrs Hudson!" He shouted until the suffering landlady came to him "did Miss Adler say where she was staying?"

"No Mr Holmes, I just bumped into her on the Oxford High street"

"Looking into stealing some jewellery no doubt" said Sherlock under his breath "so I'll have to find out the hard way" he directed to Mrs Hudson.

"It will be fun, a challenge for you Mr Holmes that will keep you out of trouble."

Sherlock exhaled, grabbed the hat and made his way out.


	5. The Education of Stars

A/N: I apologize in advance if Lestrade is a little ooc :) I've been watching clips of Sherlock on BBC iPlayer to make sure I'm keeping the characters okay, but it's gone, so... *shrugs* I'm writing Lestrade from memory.

Thank you again for the reviews! And the favs! Aaand the alerts! :DDD

This chapter is written by me, Preminiscence, so all mistakes are entirely my own (or deliberately hacked in by Sherlock due to boredom ;P).

Ps. I am right when I say Anderson was the medic-y person who examined the deadish ppl at the crime scenes, right? I'm not thinking autopsy girl Molly Hooper :)

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**Chapter Five: The Education of Stars**

It occurred to John, sitting in the taxi beside Sherlock on their way to Lestrade; that sometimes their life felt like something out of a drama series: a mystery in itself. It also occurred to him that if Lestrade provided an intriguing enough mystery, he wouldn't have to try and entertain Sherlock until he - - inevitably - - solved it. Strangely enough, he was more disappointed than relieved, but only for a moment, because it was then that Sherlock chose to speak.

"You haven't asked me about it yet."

John shot him a confused look. "What?"

"The case," he said pointedly.

"Oh," John shrugged. "I thought I'd just catch up at the scene."

Sherlock smiled. "Lestrade didn't tell me much. Just that we were needed and that I'd 'like' it."

John froze, and looked to Sherlock with appraising eyes. "He asked for both of us?"

"Of course," Sherlock dismissed, airily. "You're my blogger, and... my friend. That is, if you- -"

"Yes!" John exclaimed, startling himself as well as Sherlock. "I mean, I am. Your friend." Sherlock's broad, happy smile in response was enough for John, and they spent the rest of the journey in companionable silence.

They arrived at an isolated area of rural London, where a uniformed police officer awaited them.

"Bring me to Lestrade," Sherlock ordered, as soon as he was out the cab. John paused a while to pay the taxi driver, and then ran to catch up with Sherlock, who - - in the space of time it'd taken John to pay - - had strode ahead and was now impatiently waiting for him. The waiting in itself was a new thing to note. Usually Sherlock charged on without thought of whom he left behind, but with a secret smirk John pictured what Donovan would make of _this _situation.

"John! Hurry!" Sherlock called, and John realized that he was grinning madly whilst running, which resulted in him looking either delirious or mad. He hoped it was the former. Soon he had caught him up, and they stood side by side at the entrance of a neat, uninteresting Victorian-era house.

"I wonder what mysteries await?" Sherlock winked, and threw open the door...

... straight into Lestrade's face. "Bloody hell- -! Sherlock!" Lestrade cursed, rubbing his forehead gingerly as the policeman who had escorted them to the house made a concerned noise and asked whether he was alright. "Yes yes, fine. Doctor, we'll need your medical skills." He added, nodding his head slightly towards John.

"Short of skill?" Sherlock quipped, glancing briefly around for any signs of Anderson.

"He's not here," Lestrade intercepted before John could. "This is a bit 'out of the way' Sherlock. Might be right up your street."

Sherlock smiled. "That's what you said on the phone."

"It'll be easier to show you," Lestrade continued. "Come with me."

He led the way down the hallway they'd entered into, and then through a side room that looked like a kitchen from a history book, oddly disused for a house of its size. "The late resident of this place had documents attached to their will revealing that this house has been passed down through generations as a physical record of their lives in the Victorian era." Lestrade explained. "For the most part, it's like a snapshot of the past... in more ways than one." At this, Lestrade gestured to the door beside him, and Sherlock threw it open with as much fervor and enthusiasm as he mustered for the front door. He was greeted by a set of winding stairs that twisted to open up to a room directly below them. With Sherlock leading, they descended the stairs.

At the conclusion of the staircase was yet another door, which Sherlock opened and stepped through. He was greeted by another policeman, who wordlessly pointed them towards the rows of shelves - - both occupied and not so - - and past some empty meat-hooks in a colder section to their right. Lestrade took the lead now, and brought them to a table set in the corner, where three people sat.

One was yet another police officer, who smiled thankfully when she saw them approach. The other two were dressed like something out of time, or from a cosplay or fancy-dress festival. There was a man and a woman; the man was dressed in a worn suit, hands resting upon some papers upon the table, beside a top hat that had seen better days. His hair was dark and combed back neatly, his features betraying his confusion. The woman, however, sat straight and fearless, her face portraying only the desire to understand her new circumstances, and a mix between reverence and disbelief at the state of dress the female police woman was in opposite her. Her clothes were well-made, a dress of soft blue colours; and her hair was put up in a refined bun.

Sherlock immediately leaned across the table, taking the man's wrist in his own and holding it firmly in his grasp when the man protested; "now, see here man!" Another moment passed and his wrist was dropped, allowing Sherlock to swipe the papers from the table and examine them in the light from the pantry's basement windows. He gave a small 'hmph' and bent beside the man again, sniffing his clothes and hair for a brief moment, before encapturing his hat. Ignoring the man's frequent protests, Sherlock examined it thoroughly, and then dropped it neatly upon his head. The man huffed and then looked appalled as Sherlock moved on to the woman.

"Now see here; I tolerated your... _prodding _of me, but you shall not bestow such indignities upon a lady!" He stood and made to remove Sherlock forcibly, but he merely waved him off and called John over.

"John, this... lady... requires your medical attention."

"What appears to be the matter?" John asked, moving towards her immediately.

"She is in a state of shock. Please attend to her."

"What makes you think- -?" Lestrade began, but Sherlock waved a hand at him too.

"Stop talking and I'll explain."

The man, who had moved protectively towards the lady when John had approached, watched impatiently as John directed her into a shock-recovery position, inwardly surprised at how she had endured it silently.

"This gentleman and _lady," _Sherlock began, shooting a purposeful look towards said man; "are in a state of engagement, recently agreed. He is a left-handed secretary to the master of this house, and she is the governess. They have been courting for, oh, approximately a year; she is with child and he is concerned for his standing in the house if it is reveale- -"

"Sherlock." Sherlock looked up to meet the eyes of John, standing beside the lady still and frowning. "You're talking as if they're from the past or something." Sherlock merely did his 'you and your little brain' look, to which John responded by saying; "alright, I can't see it, I'm an idiot! Explain it for us lesser-mortals," he jibed, receiving a smile in return.

"It's simple," Sherlock gestured to the gentleman. _"Observe: _ink splotts under the cuff of his left hand; elbow of his right arm worn; fingernails longer than a worker in manual labor, ink under nails; but! Hat has been worn recently, except that it's not in make anymore. If it was an antique it wouldn't be treated like that; you wouldn't wear a top hat in modern times without being pointed at. He smells of a make of cigars not in production today, and with the smoking laws he wouldn't smell like that in this part of London, except - - you might say - - in this house. However this house does not smell of those cigars. He also has mud splotches on the hem of his trousers - - it hasn't rained in a week anywhere in London. His hair, also, smells of a soap not manufactured anymore - - I am trying to convey the sense that a man supposedly living in prior-London, and whom hasn't travelled for some time, wouldn't have soap from elsewhere, or a particular brand if they lived before individually wrapped bars of it were produced - - as opposed to the chunks of soap that were used before - - I am in the process of writing a blog on the different varieties of soap used throughout Britain; it's obvious he washed recently and that the soap he used was one in production only around the Victorian era in London - - it is no longer manufactured. His papers are of a make of paper that has been out of print since 1914, and the ink and style of writing indicate at least a partial interest in the Victorian ways. However, the paper is not yellowed, or aged, and so is of a recent print. In the top pocket of his jacket is a pound note, which - - obviously - - we do not use anymore." He paused and smirked at John, "keeping up?"

John huffed, his lips forming a tight, humoring smile. "I'll write it up as 'Sherlock-babble' later."

With a gentle disapproving look that clearly said 'disrespect to the science of deduction', Sherlock continued; "their recent engagement is obvious by the way she is fingering her ring beneath her gloves. She's obviously not used to it, but it's subconscious - - the corners of her mouth lift everytime she realizes she is doing so, indicating that it's been there only a few hours, perhaps a day or so at most. Her pregnancy is explainable simply because of way she keeps touching her stomach with her fingers - - I confirmed this after John helped her recover from shock and I announced it to be so; her hands instinctively flinched towards it and her pupils dilated for a moment. It can only be a month or so, long enough for her to realize and for morning sickness to begin but not for any other outward signs." His eyes flickered over to John's for silent confirmation, and then he continued; "she's a governess by the way she holds herself and the style of her clothes; and they were in the pantry of this very same house just over a hundred years ago, discussing their marriage in earnest where they were suddenly transported here and I was summoned." Sherlock paused again and glanced around, seemingly contemplating something. "Unless that cheese-thing you poisoned me with yesterday is giving me strange dreams," he added, staring pointedly at John.

"I was not- -! Sherlock, I explained tha- -" John protested, but Sherlock held up an apologetic hand.

"That was my attempt at a joke," he grinned in explanation, and then added under his breath, "the silence in here is so heavy it'd match Mycroft." He glanced up again and his grin broadened; "right. Any questions?"

* * *

A/N: Sherlocky help me, I tried my hand at Holmesian deduction *blink* I daresay I could've explained it better, but gah! So many points to consider :D

Sorry for the lame Mycroft-bashing thing there. I love Mycroft from the BBC adaption, I really do, but I was prodded by Sherlock's 'weight-pokes' at him. He made me do it!

Now I'm going to collapse somewhere. I have ideas nibbling me, but if I don't stop now, I'll never post this. So here *passes* take and prod :P

Oh yes, and I bashed Lestrade on the head *sniggers* :D It *should* be the nose, I know, but that always makes me cringe, so... *shrugs* Poor Lestradey :(

Ps. Btw, if the last few paragraphs make no sense whatsoever, it's because I basically rambled (like now) until I ran out of ramble XD

Pps. Kudos to those who knew from the start that they weren't Sherlocky and Irene from the past :D All to come :)

EDIT EDIT: Shi-koi pointed out two things wrong with my Sherlocky deductions, so I've edited to incorporate corrections :D


	6. Somewhere Different

A/N: This is written by Irene, 2009 film, etc. Beta'd by me but all credit goes to her :) Yadda yadda, thank you for continuing reading! Yayness :D Next update (by me, not Irene) will be next week *suspense*

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Chapter 6-

Somewhere Different

It was now late afternoon and Sherlock had tried all the obvious and some of the less obvious ones too but to no avail. Irene was definitely not in a hotel suite.

He went back to Briony Lodge which had been her last permanent address only to find it empty.

He returned to Oxford Street and found another person he was looking for, standing in the doorway of an empty shop unit.

"Samson, you were here in this very spot weren't you?" Sherlock asked the young urchin, dirt smeared all over his face, hands and feet.

"Yes Mr 'olmes," replied Samson.

"Did you see two women about one in the afternoon standing around conversing, one is about twenty three years old, wears bright dresses and hats to match? Considerably beautiful. The other is slightly older, late fifties in dark attire."

"Yes sir I did see them sir," said Samson rather enthusiastically; "you're right Mr 'olmes the younger woman is very beautiful. Got a soft spot for 'er hav' you sir?"

Sherlock inwardly smiled. "I just need to know where she went next."

"She went into 'enlye's Emporium ordered something to be sent to 'er 'ome later today under the name of Mrs Diana EneI."

"How do you know?"

"Well I followed 'er didn't I? Thought she might 'ave a bob or two on 'er considering she was ordering from 'enlyes."

"Very poor idea when Irene Adler is concerned lad."

"I know sir, only just been able to sit down, she gave me such a walloping with that baton she 'ad 'idden on 'er."

"That's my Irene," said Sherlock quietly as he started to walk towards Henlye's Emporium.

The queue was quite small when Sherlock arrived. He observed the delivery boys coming and going with large parcels. He snuck round the back, stole a spare uniform and made his way to the delivery hatch.

"I'm 'ere to collect a parcel for a Mrs Diana EneI," said Sherlock stealing Sampson's cockney accent as a disguise as well as messing up his hair a great deal. The back store clerk hardly looked up at him before he went to get Irene's parcel.

"This one's fragile don't drop it or you'll pay for it boy, deliver it to 16 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden and be quick it's late already," said the clerk, producing a small parcel barely larger than the palm of Sherlock's hand.

A few moments later Sherlock arrived at her address and rang the door bell. Unexpectedly an older male, the butler, answered the door. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, I've come to deliver a package to Mrs Enel," said he, still not dropping the accent.

"Oh right, well if you leave it with me I'll make sure Mrs Enel gets it."

"Awfully sorry sir, but I've been told that I 'ave to deliver it to 'er personally or I'll loose me days wages sir."

The butler seemed put out but showed him through to the living room. "If you just wait here I'll go and tell Mrs Enel that you are here."

"What's going on Phillip?" Asked an old maid who had appeared from the kitchen doors that lead from the living room. _Brother and sister, the butler is older by two years than the maid, _thought Sherlock. _They have the same slight damage in their left eyes._

"This man has been asked to deliver a parcel to the mistress, _**personally,**__" _said the butler putting the stress on the personally part.

"A present from the master perhaps?"

Sherlock winced at that last statement.

"Could be," the butler turned to Sherlock; "wait here please and don't take, touch or break anything."

Both brother and sister walked off together leaving Sherlock on his own.

Sherlock found the stairs to the upper floor with ease and followed them up until he smelt Irene's perfume. He let himself into the master bedroom, which was, without a doubt hers. Her scent was everywhere and it was driving Sherlock crazy. He was half way snooping through her items on her dressing table when the door opened and in stormed Irene with thunder clouds almost brewing over her head.

Sherlock quickly took solace behind a lilac curtain before she saw him and it was lucky he did.

As soon as the door had slammed shut she growled an unladylike and animalistic growl and forcefully knocked off a lampshade with her bare hands which shattered on the carpet.

"That pig face brute! How dare he do this to me! After all I have done for him! Bailed him out on numerous occasions! Well no one makes a fool of Irene Adler! No, not even Edward Enel!" She screamed, pacing up and down as she vowed against the man she hated. Sherlock sighed inwardly, it was not him she was mad at and now she seemed to have calmed down, as she was lying on her back on the lilac double bed; breathing heavily he decided to make his entrance.

"It's funny, I didn't notice that you were wearing a wedding ring when you came to Baker Street," said he. If Irene was surprised she didn't show it.

"What are you doing here?" She asked narrowing her eyes at him at the same time.

"Simply to return this," replied he, producing her hat from his coat pocket.

"How did you find me?" Said she as she took the hat from his hand.

"Ah! From this little parcel you ordered the day you met Mrs Hudson on Oxford Street," he threw it to her lightly. "Don't drop it, it's fragile"

Her features brightened immediately when she caught and opened the parcel to reveal a small gold necklace with a fragile looking diamond in the middle of the tear drop frame.

"Now why would you buy such a thing when you could steal one bigger and better than that any day of the week," commented Sherlock.

"It's a little cheer-up-Irene gift, to consol myself for having to be married, in this god awful country once again. Will you help me put it on?"

Sherlock obeyed with slight difficulty of being so close to her. It was getting better until the door opened and in came a middle aged gentleman with the beginnings of a very portly stomach.

"Diana! What the devil's going on here?"

* * *

EDIT EDIT: Oh, hey, out of interest, which do you prefer? Sherlock x John or Sherlock x Irene? Don't worry, we're not cutting pairings or anything, I'm just interested ^_^


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